


Jumpers and Mugs

by TheSeventhSister



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/F, Friendship/Love, Genderswap, fem!Enjolras, fem!Jean Prouvaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeventhSister/pseuds/TheSeventhSister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this point, in Jehan’s head, Enjolras would delicately kiss her neck and nuzzle into it before telling her about the day’s classes. However, life was not like it should be according to Jehan’s romantic mind.</p>
<p>Jehan and Enjolras lived with each other for 2 years, known each other for 3 and Jehan has been in love with Enjolras all that time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jumpers and Mugs

**Author's Note:**

> I've not really come across much genderswap in the Les Mis fandom so I thought I might as well give it a go.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Jehan sat on the sofa leaning into her mug of tea and desperately trying to ignore the pain that was located in between her shoulder blades. She crossed her legs at the ankles in an attempt to think of something else. Before this she had knotted her hands in her jumper, plaited her hair into a ludicrously loose plait, done a little bit of make-up and put on her rain track. This is why, more than anything, Jehan hated being home alone; there was nobody to distract her when she got back pain.

This was a silly irrational thought brought on by cramps and mood swings. Normally, Jehan didn’t like being in her flat alone because her inspiration came from other people but right now it was because there was nothing she could do about her back pain. Her knuckles were white with gripping her mug so tightly. She had taken all the paracetamol and ibuprofen and whatnot she could have for the next 4 hours without doing something harmful. She took a tentative, slightly shaky because of how hard she was gripping it, sip of her tea. She had gone all out and made it milky with honey AND sugar but it wasn’t enough. She let out a frustrated sigh and was just about to keel back on to one of her many floral cushions when she heard a key in the lock and the door being lifted off the latch.

Jehan whisked her head round to see her flatmate enter with a bag of groceries.

“Enjolras” she whined, wiggling her shoulders to show her discomfort. Enjolras smiled a weary kind of smile and put the bag down by the door. She had had a long day of classes but she made sure she went by the shops to pick up some Sour Patch Kids and ice cream, knowing that Jehan would probably be wanting them later. Without a word she squeezed herself onto the sofa in amongst the floral cushions behind her flatmate, pushed the ludicrously loose titian plait out of the way and began gently massaging between Jehan’s shoulder blades.

“Thank you,” hummed Jehan, “You have magic hands.”

“I know,” smiled Enjolras, “You tell me enough times! You’ve only got a day or two left and then you’re free for another month.” Jehan let a chuckle escape from her throat, closed her eyes and lent her head back to rest on Enjolras’ shoulder. 

At this point, in Jehan’s head, Enjolras would delicately kiss her neck and nuzzle into it before telling her about the day’s classes. However, life was not like it should be according to Jehan’s romantic mind so instead she rocked her head forward again and asked about lessons. This launched Enjolras into a 20 minute long impassioned speech about the latest American Republican Congressman who had made an outlandish statement about rape in which Jehan asked questions at the appropriate points. She loved hearing Enjolras speak when she was passionate; the subjects always made the blonde light up and it accentuated her statuesque beauty instead of clouding it. Enjolras already ran a highly successful feminist website and had job offers for when she finished her degree which was a whole year away. Many people didn’t like the ranting side of Enjolras but Jehan loved it like she loved all parts of her flatmate’s personality.

“So…” said Jehan once her flatmate’s spiel was finished, “did you see R at all today?” She tried to make the question sound spontaneous and innocent as she leaned forward to release Enjolras from her role as masseuse. Enjolras had met Grantaire, better known as R, at one of the first parties held by those on her degree. Normally parties weren’t Enjolras’ thing but Jehan had insisted she go or otherwise she would ‘never make friends’. It made Jehan sigh to think that without her, the two women would never have met. At first, Enjolras despised R’s drunken ways and lack of ideology and the stench of smoke that clung to her. But, as these things often go, feelings didn’t stay that way for long. R was now Enjolras’ on again, off again girlfriend. Even after all this, Jehan couldn’t help but like R – mainly because she was very good at finding the good in people regardless of everyone else’s opinion – so couldn’t dislike her for dating her flatmate.

“No” said Enjolras very succinctly. They still hadn’t made up from their all-out fight they’d had a week ago about Grantaire’s drinking which often led to sleeping with other people. Jehan knew R was troubled but Enjolras had her own issues, it felt a little unfair that she had to care for a whole other person’s sack of shit too. That was rude. Both Enjolras and Jehan, in fact many of R’s friends, had tried time and time again to help Grantaire but nothing had worked. R needed people to be patient who would stay beside her until she wanted to get better. Jehan did not think Enjolras was going to be, or should be, one of those people.

“I’m sorry,” she sympathised running her fingers through her plait to undo it and wrapping the bobble round her wrist for safekeeping, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay” said Enjolras shifting onto the space on the battered lilac sofa and straightening out Jehan’s cushions to avoid looking at her flatmate, “you weren’t to know.”

“I promise there are better people for you out there,” said Jehan glancing at her flatmate, “R is really lovely but she doesn’t treat you like you’re worth very much and you are, Enjy, you really are. You deserve flowers and poetry and faithfulness and picnics and really lovely things from people who really love you.” Jehan blushed throughout this speech, knotting her fingers through the holes in her 7 sizes too big mocha jumper, hoping that Enjolras wouldn’t realise she was talking about herself. Her flatmate wasn’t too good at subtle feelings so there was a high chance this would fly her by.

It did.

 

*****

 

“I can’t believe you slept with her! She’s my friend!”

“Well, clearly she isn’t a very good one! You should be happy I’m clearing the dead branches from your life.”

“This is clearing dead branches! This is fucking messing with me for the fun of it!”

“I was drunk an-”

“Aren’t you always? I’m tired of all your fucking SHIT!”

Jehan had been standing there, hand poised to put her key in the lock, for about 5 minutes. She didn’t dare move in case she disturbed the argument going on within the flat and incurred the wrath of either or both of its participants. There was lots of stomping and she think she may have heard a smash which caused the English student to worry about her miniature stained glass ornament that decorated one of many bookshelves within the apartment. 

“I bet you’re fucking drunk now! Aren’t you?” came Enjolras’ voice loud and clear through the door. Another inward wish that the neighbours wouldn’t mind about the noise crossed Jehan’s thoughts.

“Well I knew I was coming to see you so I had something to make it bearable!” screamed back R.

“You know what? You can get the fuck out of my apartment and the fuck out of my life as well. I don’t want to see you or hear from you again.”

There was more stomping but this time it was coming towards the door. Jehan flattened herself against the wall hoping that it wasn’t too dirty because she was wearing her favourite translucent oversized white blouse and white and pink vertical striped jeans. This outfit was like a dirt magnet. It didn’t stop her from loving it though.

This thought was interrupted by her being hit by the door. She should have stepped to the other side of the hall. She stayed pressed against the wall as she watched Grantaire storm down the corridor and out of sight as Enjolras yelled more insults from inside the flat. Jehan unwedged herself from betwixt the wall and door and snuck in the apartment just as her flatmate slammed the door to her room. She crept to her room and closed the door like she was shutting the door to a chapel. 

It was times like this she wished she had a window but the other bedroom (the one with a window) was slightly bigger and Enjolras had way more books and materials that she needed so Jehan happily let her flatmate have that room. Jehan’s room was very her. The walls and her bed sheets were a warm cream, any furniture was wood or wood effect and all patterns – like her pillow and duvet as well as the edges of her walls – were floral but not in a tacky way, they looked refined and classic. The wall which the door was on also had her desk and a bookshelf that was only used to hold pictures in frames and knick knacks. Her headboard of her bed rested against the middle of the opposite wall. The left wall was again almost full of bookshelves, only leaving space for the door to open fully and not damage anything. These shelves were half filled with the great works of literature throughout all periods of time, books on poetry and all forms of art as well as exhibition catalogues. The last wall was covered in paintings and photos. The photos were all personal. The paintings were normally picked up from second-hand fairs and vintage shops but some were by friends.

There was a photo and a painting that were identical. They were both done by Grantaire when she and Enjolras first started dating. Jehan had mentioned once to Enjolras that she’d always wanted some sort of portrait done but she didn’t like her face too much. It had been laughed off in the moment but this opportunity was given as a Christmas present. She had been taken to Grantaire’s shared studio and sat on a white block next to a white background, naked, looking away from the camera. Her signature titian plait draped over the visible shoulder, her hands behind her to support her upper body and her legs crossed away from the camera.

Her favourite part about it was the fact that her tattoo was almost the focus of the entire picture and painting. It was down the right side of her torso and one of her favourite things about herself. Jehan’s mother did not know about it and it was going to stay that way. Three fully bloomed pink roses trailed down from breast to her hip. They were surrounded by much small green leaves and roses. It was big and had been a risk but she loved it and looked forward to it aging with her. The portrait had been done two months after the tattoo; it wasn’t as vivid now, it had acquired a faded and loved charm to it. Jehan had no plans to touch it up ever because she liked it more and more as it changed with her. Her hands subconsciously rested on where it was as Jehan looked at her pictures.

A small and quiet knock brought her from her thoughts. She turned to see Enjolras looking through the crack she had opened. Jehan beckoned her in and the pair sat in silence on the floral bed. Enjolras didn’t cry, she never cries, but she let Jehan hold her and make soothing sounds. 

“She was the first,” mumbled Enjolras into her flatmate’s shoulder, “for everything…”

It was definitely over with Grantaire and that was probably a good thing but it would take Enjolras a few days to believe what she kept telling herself.

 

*****

 

The letter stood pride of place on Jehan’s desk so she could see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night. She had taken part in an interdepartmental competition between the Arts subject where the winner won a cash prize for their creation. There had been 2 stages so far: submission and a showing to a select panel. Jehan had now been told she was through to the final round – a public showing which was taking place in a local art gallery so the art entries could be shown in a suitable facility. She had written a poem. It was a stupid little thing that was meant to be private. She’d entered it on a whim thinking she wouldn’t get through to the further rounds and it would never see the light of day again. But now she had been invited to the final; Jehan couldn’t help but be excited that tonight was the big night.

“Are you ready yet? I want to see what you look like before we leave” moaned Enjolras through Jehan’s bedroom door. She had been Jehan’s first choice as her plus one, naturally.

“Give me a second. You almost fucked up my eyeliner!” she shouted back. The titian looked at her face in the mirror. She had forsaken her classic plait for big bun that made her feel slightly more dressy. She’d also decided makeup was a good idea so she stuck to safe ideas with black 50s winged eyeliner and a subtle pink lip tint for her mouth. It was times like this Jehan liked her freckles a lot; they made her look like her and not just some run of the mill dressed up student award nominee. 

“Coming, ready or not” she called, just able to pick up Enjolras grumbling she’d been ready for at least 10 minutes. 

As Jehan stepped out her room Enjolras’ jaw dropped. She’d never seen her flatmate look more breathtakingly beautiful. Her dress was midnight blue, full length and backless with high square collar halterneck. It revealed the first half of her tattoo which made Jehan look suitably artsy and much more like herself. She wore simply gold jewellery and a thin gold belt to set it off. Enjolras, for once was lost for words as Jehan smiled sheepishly at her.

“Do I look okay?”

“You look…” faltered Enjolras, “… amazing.” She was replied with a giggle and together the two women set off to the showing.

All too soon it was time for Jehan to present her poem. As she stood in front of her expectant crowd her eyes kept flicking to Enjolras who remained motionless. However, this exact character trait is what gave Jehan courage and confidence. Courage to that Enjolras was always there, unchanging, and she could do this. Confident that her flatmate would never guess the poem was actually about her. Scanning the audience once more Jehan began to recite:

Kiss me  
Though my lips are chapped  
They are shaped from winters passed

Kiss me  
Though my eyes are wet  
From demons I have not dared show you yet

Kiss me  
Though my hands shake  
It comes from the fear you create

Kiss me  
Though I turn away  
I have not the courage you demand today

Love me  
In spite of it all  
Watch me rise to you, then watch me fall

Dragging her back to the real world was the sound of applause. Jehan smiled graciously and bowed her head, humbled that people liked what she had written. She stepped off the mini stage that had been set up in the gallery and made her way back to Enjolras’ side.

“That was really good” whispered her flatmate. Those were the only words the poet needed to hear.

 

*****

 

They walked into the apartment in silence, Jehan following Enjolras, looking like the weight of the world was upon them. Without a word Enjolras motioned for Jehan to sit on the sofa and she did so trying her best not to burst into tears.

“I’m so sorry” she whispered. It was deafening in the silent flat, “I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what came over me. I-”

“Jehan. I am really pleased that you won. That’s really great” said Enjolras as she began pacing the flat, “The poem was brilliant. You really deserved it. I was just thrown off… what I mean is that I wasn’t expecting… I didn’t know how to react when… god … I had no idea what the fuck to do when you kissed me.” The poet breathed in a shuddering breath in a failed attempt to hold her tears back. It had been a mistake. A massive huge fuck up on her part. Enjolras was never going to forgive her. “That’s just to say that I wasn’t expecting it. We’ve been friends for what feels like ages when it’s only been a few years. I trust you with everything. I just haven’t seen you in that way.”

A pause followed this as Enjolras stopped to look at her flatmate. There was one question and one question only on her mind: “Was that poem about me?” Jehan nodded her head slowly. “How long have you felt like this?”

“A while” was all the tearful girl could manage.

“How long is a while?”

Another pause.

“Since I met you…”

“That’s almost three years, Jehan!” Enjolras couldn’t believe her flatmate had kept this to herself for so long. Jehan nodded again, too tearful to talk. “How could you do that to yourself?” The poet shrugged.

Enjolras just couldn’t comprehend what was going on. She and Jehan had met at a feminist spoken word event and hit it off right away. They had ended up going to the same university and Enjolras had suggested that they live together. It had seemed like the perfect plan; no roommate surprises and someone she already knew she was going to get along with. How had she not seen, in all that time, the Jehan had feelings for her? The blonde had to admit that feelings had never been her strong suit, her parents had even had her tested as a child to see if anything was wrong with her, but she’d been living with Jehan for a good time now so how had she not noticed? She’d even brought Grantaire over – oh god, how insensitive of her! Without Jehan forcing her to go to that party she would have never met Grantaire. How must Jehan feel about that?! Knowing she was the one that brought Enjolras and Grantaire together. This was fucked up.

Enjolras thought of all the times that Jehan had just been there for her, listened to her latest campaign, made her go to be when she was working too much for exams, tidying the flat so Enjolras could focus on her studies. Everything this girl did had been a labour of love. This beautiful, heartbroken girl had just resigned herself to that fact that she could only take care of Enjolras and never be loved back. Could Enjolras love her back? She’d never thought of Jehan that way but there was no reason why she couldn’t. It was always worth a try. Enjolras sat down on the sofa next to Jehan and raised her hand to hover over her flatmate’s back. She had no idea how to comfort her or even what to say. She decided the only way forward was to do what she did best and just state her opinion.

“Jehan, the only problem I had with what happened tonight is that I was not expecting it. I wish you had talked to me about how you felt; we both know that I’m not good at feelings at the best of times so being explicit helps. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I would not be averse to being in a romantic relationship with you; I just need some time to get used the idea of the possibility.”

Jehan stared at her flatmate in wonderment. She couldn’t believe what Enjolras had actually just said. She was right, the idea was going to take some getting used to.

“Okay…” replied Jehan, “but I don’t want to start anything – if anything were to begin – in the immediate future. I would want us to take our time.”

“Fine by me.”

“I think I’m going to go to bed now. It’s been a long day,” sighed Jehan as she eased herself up from the sofa, “Goodnight Enjy.”

“Night Jehan.”

 

*****

 

Jehan looked over Enjolras’ shoulder, she was studying hard for a test next week. She didn’t really need to study but Jehan always thought that. She looked around the silent living room for a second and then decided she might as well ask her question.

“Can I read in here?”

“Go ahead” replied Enjolras, not looking up from her notes.

Jehan went back to her room, picked up her book and wrapped herself in her duvet. She walked back through to the living room and settled on the floor in front of the sofa. She was a duvet mountain and she liked it.

Enjolras glanced up from her notes to see Jehan plonk herself on the floor; a flitting smile graced her lips. Her flatmate was adorable. She went back to her studying but found her eyes flicking to the mound of duvet a few feet in front of her. It had been just over two weeks since Jehan had kissed her and the girls hadn’t discussed the subject since the night. However, little things had changed. Enjolras allowed Jehan to be in her personal space more; instead of sitting on the sofa at opposite ends, they often became some sort of tangle of limbs. The first few days hadn’t been like this, the two women had been very separate, but affection had persevered. On the 10th time of looking at her flatmate, Enjolras gave in.

“What are you reading?” she asked.

“The Princess Bride” said a slightly muffled voice from the duvet mountain.

“Ah” Enjolras was pleasantly surprised, “a fantastic satirical commentary on Florinese society, it’s beliefs and it’s materialism. You are reading the unabridged version, right?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Jehan emerging from her duvet and stifling a laugh, “I’m reading the abridged 25th anniversary edition and I’m reading it for the love story not its political merits.”

“Oh,” replied Enjolras sounding a little disappointed, “I didn’t pay much attention to that part.”

“I didn’t think you would” smiled Jehan.

“Then again, I haven’t read it in at least 5 years” admitted the blonde, “I can’t even remember the start.”

“Well, if you want to take a study break and let me move my mountain on to the sofa, I’ll walk you through it” offered Jehan. In 5 minutes they were both back on the sofa under Jehan’s duvet and ready to begin. “It starts off by describing beautiful women just to set up that Buttercup became the most beautiful woman in the world by the time she hit puberty. Then it goes on to tell us all about how badly she treats Westley (he’s the hero) because he’s a farm hand. But the thing is that Westley does everything she asks and tells him to do because he’s in love with her. With me so far?”

“I think so…” said Enjolras hesitantly.

“Good! So,” continued Jehan, “one day a Count and a Countess ride past Buttercup’s farm and they stop because the Count wants to talk about how well their cows are raised on the farm. While they visit Buttercup notices that the Countess keeps staring at Westley. This drives Buttercup wild so she can’t sleep and then she realises that she’s in love with Westley!”

“Just like that?” asked Enjolras, a little disbelievingly.

“Just like that!” exclaimed Jehan. Enjolras couldn’t help but notice how pretty her flatmate look when she talked about the story. She was really invested in it and that made the exercise seem worthwhile. “Can I go on? Because we’re nearly at the best bit of the start!”

“Yes, please continue.”

“Anyway, so she goes to Westley and makes this massive love declaration only to have him shut the door in her face! Obviously she’s distraught because she thinks he doesn’t love her back. Then, at dusk, someone knocks on her door.”  
“Is it Westley?” asked Enjolras, knowing it probably was.

“Yes!” squealed Jehan, “He says that he’s come to say goodbye because he’s going to America to make his fortune so he can save up enough to come back, buy a farm and a house big enough for two. Buttercup doesn’t understand and she asks if he loves her and he says that he does! Then they say goodbye but before he turns to go she asks for a kiss. This next bit is the best bit. I learnt it off by heart when I first read the book. Do you want to hear it?” Jehan looked expectantly at her flatmate.

“Go on; let me here the best bit.”

“There have been five great kisses since 1642 BC, when Saul and Delilah Korn’s inadvertent discovery swept across Western civilisation. (Before the couples hooked thumbs.) And the precise rating of kisses is a terribly difficult thing, often leading to great controversy, because although everyone agrees with the formula of affection times purity times intensity time duration, no one has ever been completely satisfied with how much weight each element should receive. But on any system, there are five that everyone agrees deserve full marks. Well, this one left them all behind.”

Jehan looked radiant reciting the passeage; she looked truly beautiful. For the first time Enjolras saw something she’d never seen before, a side of Jehan that she felt she may be able to love for the rest of her life and want to take care of forever. The titian sat there smiling at Enjolras waiting for a positive reaction to the speech but Enjolras couldn’t focus; she just kept looking at Jehan’s lips.

Jehan had perfectly pink lips. They were full. Her cupid’s bow was delicate but well defined. Her bottom lip was pleasingly round. How had Enjolras not noticed this before? All she wanted to do now was see what they felt like against hers. Without word or warning she leant forward and laced a gentle, delicate kiss on those perfect lips. As she pulled back she saw Jehan’s wide-eyed expression and wondered if she’d done something wrong. He troubles were pushed away as the poet launched herself on top of her and reignited the kiss.

This one was little more forceful, a little more purposeful, a little more determined, a little more passionate. It was the three years of affection placed in one, surprisingly chaste, kiss. It broke off because Jehan was giggling with sheer joy and Enjolras was smiling like a normal human being which meant she was extremely happy.

“That one definitely left them all behind” enthused Jehan, paraphrasing her favourite passage.

“Definitely” smiled Enjolras as her hands framed Jehan’s face to bring her back to her lips.

 

*****

 

Enjolras broke the kiss and started pulling a very naked Jehan towards her bed, letting out a breathy laugh with the sheer joy of being the only one who got to see the poet like this, the thrill didn’t seem to be wearing off. Jehan resisted, pressing her back against Enjolras’ bedroom door, shaking her head but not letting go of her lover’s hand.

“No,” she challenged, “here.”

“Against the door?” Enjolras said whilst raising one eyebrow. Jehan loved it when she did that.

“Yes, against the door,” asserted Jehan, “I’m a romantic who likes rough sex. Judge me.” Enjolras closed the gap between them. 

“Oh I will,” she purred into Jehan’s neck as she traced the rose tattoo with the tips of her fingers, “and I think you’ll find I’ll rule in your favour.”

Jehan smiled as she lolled her head back against the door. She never thought it could be this good but, then again, Enjolras paid attention to detail when she was passionate about something.


End file.
